


Guilty Pleasures

by merelydovely



Series: Les Mis Women Week 2017 [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Internalized Homophobia, Light Angst, Masturbation, Pining, Religious Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-06 16:34:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11604540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merelydovely/pseuds/merelydovely
Summary: Just when Cosette thinks she's got a handle on her Catholic guilt, Éponine Thénardier walks into her fantasy life.





	Guilty Pleasures

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for the [GUILTY PLEASURES prompt](http://probably-pride-related.tumblr.com/post/162287312525/les-mis-wlwwomens-week-psa) of [Les Mis Women/WLW Week](https://persephonah.tumblr.com/post/162241826110/is-your-gay-ass-starved-of-the-much-needed-wlw) 2017.

It was difficult to properly explain to a gaggle of young, innocent girls that masturbation was a sin when you were unwilling to verbalize even the slightest hint of what masturbation actually entailed, and yet somehow the nuns of the convent at Petit-Picpus had managed just fine.

There had been a great deal of talk about remaining pure in word and deed, and countless assertions that a good Christian woman was to sanctify her earthly body through either marriage to a good Christian man or, as was the case with the nuns themselves, a symbolic marriage to Christ Jesus. And there had been a great many warnings against lust, against the temptations of the flesh.

Cosette hadn’t even known the word for clitoris when she’d first begun to pleasure herself with it, but she’d sure as hell known she was sinning.

Now, a decade later and clinging to a hard-won agnosticism, the guilt was not so much religious as it was habitual. The nuns had arguably done her a favor, adding a sprinkling of delicious wrongness to an activity that was otherwise so natural as to be mundane: a hint of guilt meant that something was forbidden, and if something was forbidden, then doing it was an adrenaline rush. Cosette had at last traversed the long road from “Father, I have sinned,” to “Daddy, I’ve been naughty,” and so far she had no regrets.

However.

The hint of guilt triggered by offending a distant, possibly-imaginary deity was far less urgent than the far more genuine guilt provoked by the fear that she was taking advantage of the good will of someone dear to her.

Because on the one hand there was Éponine’s bright, affectionate smile, her openness and her obvious pleasure at finally having a close female friend. And on the other, there was the way her breasts felt pressed against Cosette when the two of them hugged, the way Éponine’s tiny feet rubbed against Cosette’s legs when they watched Netflix together in Cosette’s basement, the way Éponine glanced at Cosette with half-lidded eyes whenever they overheard unintentional innuendo: the mildest of platonic gestures, turned horribly titillating.

Even now as she rubbed furiously at her clit, pulling viciously on one nipple with her free hand, Cosette was thinking of nothing more than Éponine running across the quad to catch Cosette by the arm, a glow of summer sweat slicking the way. How Éponine had sounded, out of breath: “Cosette,” she’d panted, chest heaving, “Cosette, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

The ghost of Éponine’s innocent touch lingered all over Cosette’s body, everywhere but the places Cosette was touching now: the swell of her breasts, the vee of her legs, the curve of her belly. Every night Cosette found herself again and again transposing Éponine’s touches in her mind, imagining the other girl’s bronze skin pressed against her own, no longer a collage of friendly touches but instead in contact everywhere at once.

Was it a betrayal to think this way about someone she called a friend? Or was the betrayal her decision to invite further touches, to keep taking something more than what had been explicitly offered? Was this angst the product of an active conscience, or only overactive Catholic guilt? Did heterosexual men have this problem, or was it only internalized homophobia that had Cosette mired in moral quandary?

Cosette didn’t know. The only thing she knew for sure was that she always came her hardest with Éponine’s name on her lips.

**Author's Note:**

> If there's interest, I could be persuaded to turn this into a fic instead of just this little concept.
> 
> Rebloggable [here](https://les-amis-de-nsfw.tumblr.com/post/163289463215/guilty-pleasures) at my NSFW Les Mis sideblog, [@les-amis-de-nsfw](https://les-amis-de-nsfw.tumblr.com/).


End file.
